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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565321">god of plenty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/selkathyouth/pseuds/selkathyouth'>selkathyouth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Developing Friendships, Dysfunctional Family, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up Together, M/M, Slow Build, Teenagers, Volleyball, a lonely and emotional bokuto, a lonely and overwhelmed akaashi, more tags to come, will be rated M in the future but for now it's pg13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/selkathyouth/pseuds/selkathyouth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little big ten year story about Akaashi and Bokuto. </p><p>More tags to come as I write and upload new chapters.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 一</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Bokuto noticed in Akaashi’s first few days on the team that he brings a chill with him. Akaashi always seems so unmoved and unaffected. His introversion is apparent. Bokuto wonders what makes him smile, or frown, or laugh, or cry. It clearly isn’t volleyball. The other teammates don’t seem to mind, because Akaashi has made their acquaintance in the way that Bokuto has never been able to.</p><p>-- </p><p>I have a lot of plans for this fic. Like, a full timeline/outline written for this fic, as well as 20+ reference tabs open for this fic. I have to set the stage in my first few chapters, though, so for the first little while, the fic will be quite insular and involve only Fukurodani. </p><p>More Karasuno and Nekoma characters to come in future chapters. Also, there will be an M rating in the future as well, when these two are older. Can't wait for you to see what I have planned.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yet another after practice meeting with Yamiji-sensei. </p><p>Bokuto has amassed quite a few complaints from his teachers this week. He’s not doing well in math, he shouted out in Japanese literature, he was talking to Sarukui-san during the history lesson. Yamiji-sensei clicks through his emails as Bokuto sits in front of him at his desk in the little office in the volleyball club room. Where another student may be sheepish when they are summoned to their sensei’s office, Bokuto is unfazed. He’s used to it.</p><p>“They are all threatening to get the principal involved if you don’t straighten up, Bokuto-san. We need to get you a math tutor.” </p><p>“They’re overreacting.” Bokuto says, and Yamiji-sensei shoots him a weary look. “And why did they email you anyway? They didn’t even say anything to me. They’re out to get me.”</p><p>“They emailed me because they know threatening to take volleyball away is the only thing that works with you.”</p><p>Bokuto’s spine snaps into place as he straightens from his slouch. “I hate talking about this all the time, sensei. I’m trying my best in math. And Kitagawa-sensei was ignoring my hand in Japanese lit, so I yelled out the right answer. And Sarukui-san was messing with me in history, and so I asked him to stop.”</p><p>Another weary look from Yamiji-sensei. “Okay, I yelled at him to stop,” Bokuto admits. “What difference does it make? Everyone at this school acts like yelling is the worst thing in the world.” </p><p>“Bokuto-san, it makes a lot of difference when I am already getting these emails asking me to suspend you from the team this early in the term. I do what I can to stick up for you, but you have been making it really difficult lately.”</p><p>Bokuto itches the damp nape of his neck, the only place on his head not completely tainted by a poor grey-white bleach job. “You’re the only teacher here that doesn’t treat me like shit.”</p><p>“Bokuto-san, language. And that isn’t true. Everyone has your best interest in mind.”</p><p>“That’s just what teachers say before they punish you.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be so snarky, Bokuto-san.” </p><p>Bokuto slumps back and crosses his thick arms over his chest. His arms feel heavy from practice and there’s a slow burning ache in his tired thigh muscles. He hates these after-practice meetings. By then, as the afternoon slips into dinnertime, his brain has been completely drained of everything not based in essential function or survival. He wants to stand in the hot shower for hours and feel the two-hour serve and spike heavy practice drain from his limbs. He starts to fall into a warm daydream about it as Yamiji-sensei ignores him for a moment to check emails. </p><p>There’s another ping from Yamiji-sensei’s computer. “Bokuto, I have an email from Okumura-sensei asking me to send you to her office if you’re still at school. She found your belongings on the floor outside your homeroom.”</p><p>Bokuto’s hand fists in his sticky practice shorts, and he has to bite back a curse word. “When would they have had time to do that?” Yamiji-senpai nods without looking at Bokuto, and Bokuto scoots forward frantically. “No, seriously, sensei, this wasn’t me. I’ve been really organized lately. I’ve been trying.” </p><p>Yamiji-sensei sighs, and there’s an obvious annoyance to it. “Please go figure that out, Bokuto-san. And if you don’t have all of your homework done tomorrow - believe me, I will ask your teachers - you will sit out of practice.” </p><p>“Yes, Yamiji-sensei. I - okay. I will.” Yamiji-sensei looks up as Bokuto backs out of the office, but doesn’t smile at Bokuto like he did the last time Bokuto left one of these meetings. </p><p>Bokuto resigns himself to showering at home and tucks his thick, sweaty hair back in a headband as he throws his things haphazardly into his Fukurōdani Academy gym bag. He shudders as he slips into his track jacket and his clammy arms stick on the sleeves. He flips off the lights in the locker room, a force of habit since he’s always the last person to leave, whether because he is putting in extra practice, or because he’s been assigned cleaning duty as a punishment. Or both. </p><p>Bokuto nearly runs into Akaashi as he exits the office, and grabs onto Akaashi’s arms to prevent a collision. “Oh! Hey, Akaashi-san!I thought you’d left already.” Bokuto smiles but Akaashi doesn’t return the smile, so Bokuto quickly lets go of his arms and steps back from the smaller, younger boy.  </p><p>Bokuto noticed in Akaashi’s first few days on the team that he brings a chill with him. Akaashi always seems so unmoved and unaffected. His introversion is apparent. Bokuto wonders what makes him smile, or frown, or laugh, or cry. It clearly isn’t volleyball. The other teammates don’t seem to mind, because Akaashi has made their acquaintance in the way that Bokuto has never been able to. </p><p>“Did you get in trouble?” There’s no concern in Akaashi’s voice, Bokuto notices. Akaashi is always lurking, silently listening in on conversations, so Bokuto knows he’s just being nosy. </p><p>“No way. I’ve just been having trouble in some classes and Yamiji-sensei wanted to talk about it. No big deal.” </p><p>“I heard that happens to you a lot.”</p><p>Bokuto smirks and laughs heartily at his own expense. It feels like a privilege to be a part of the inside joke. “Yeah, maybe. You’ve only been here for three weeks and the others have already turned you against me?”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyes narrow and his arms cross tightly over his chest. He seems so stern and cold, even in the warm late afternoon sunlight washing in through the windows. “That sounds really paranoid.”</p><p>Bokuto shrugs. “Not everyone on the team likes me.” </p><p>“Maybe they would like you more if you weren’t so dramatic during practice.” Bokuto grimaces and nods, trying to banter along but now finding it difficult to read Akaashi’s flat tone. “Yeah, maybe they would.”  </p><p>“But it was good setting for you today, Bokuto-san.” Bokuto grins and relaxes a little, reveling in the small compliment. “Well, as your captain, I’m happy to hear it was good!” Akaashi interjects, without hesitation or delicacy, “Co-captain.” </p><p>Bokuto bristles and hoists his gym bag back onto his shoulder. There’s an awkwardly large amount of distance between the two of them, but Bokuto’s thankful for it as he feels a swell of anger rising. He knows now that Akaashi is here to bother him, probably at the direction of one of the other second years. “Technically, yeah. What are you still doing here anyway?” </p><p>Akaashi’s face doesn’t move. It shines with fresh sweat but he doesn’t wipe it away. An abrupt cast of orange sunlight glares in his eyes. “The rest of us were cleaning up the gym. Not that you would know. You were up here getting out of chores.” </p><p>Bokuto’s glad that there is space between them, otherwise Akaashi would be able to hear his breath quicken. At the first sting in his eyes, Bokuto looks down and blinks fast to push the tears away. Not in front of Akaashi. </p><p>“What is your problem? I was up here getting chewed out by Yamiji-sensei. Do you wanna switch me, Akaashi-san? Would you rather get in trouble?”</p><p>Bokuto curses as he dabs his eyes and cheeks with his baggy sleeve. Bokuto moves to leave without waiting for a response, and Akaashi slips quickly out of the way. “Whatever. I gotta go. See you tomorrow.”</p><p>Akaashi watches as Bokuto rushes out, hiding his eyes behind his jacket sleeve. It embarrasses Akaashi to see him that way. Bokuto is seventeen; he is much too old to be crying as often as he does. </p><p>“Akaashi-san? Is that you? </p><p>Yamiji-sensei opens the office door. “What are you doing up here? Do you need something?” </p><p>“No, sorry, Yamiji-sensei. I was cleaning downstairs and I realized I left something up here. Then I ran into Bokuto-san and we - ” The dishonesty tastes sour in Akaashi’s mouth. “We were just talking.” </p><p>“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Akaashi-san. I actually wanted to talk to you about Bokuto-san. Even though you’re a first year, I’m sure you’ve already learned quite a bit about how he operates.” </p><p>Akaashi shakes his head no. “Not really. I don’t really understand him. We don’t talk outside of volleyball.”</p><p>“Maybe that’s true, Akaashi-san. He can be very frustrating. But he is a very good leader, and is a talented player. He has a future in volleyball. That’s why he is a co-captain here. But, Bokuto-san is not strong academically, especially in math. I sense that you are a discrete young man and someone who has a patient nature. And someone who may be interested in an opportunity that would impress your teachers.”</p><p>“Um. Are you asking me to help Bokuto-san with math?” </p><p>Yamiji-sensei nods. “I know it sounds strange, because you are a year below him. But I am aware of your excellent grades and standing in your class. Your recommendation from middle school was very impressive, especially in mathematics.” </p><p>Akaashi’s nails dig into his palms. A blush spreads across his face, feeling both embarrassed further for Bokuto and at the mention of his middle school achievement. “Yamiji-sensei, I’m sorry, but I don’t, uh, I’m not really interested in math. And I need to focus on my own studies, and focus on volleyball. I don’t have that much free time.” </p><p>Yamiji-sensei sits back down behind his desk as Akaashi lingers in the office doorway. “It would be a valuable team-building exercise for you and Bokuto-san, I think. As the setter, you should take any opportunities to work together.” </p><p>Akaashi opens his mouth to explain that he doesn’t understand what math homework has to do with volleyball, but Yamiji-sensei continues, his tone resolute. “Bokuto-san is an essential member of the team, whether or not you or any of the others think so. He is not receiving the support he needs, and the other coaches and I can only do so much. I think someone with your maturity and intelligence would help him very much.”</p><p>Akaashi knows he’s not being given a choice. “I will talk to my parents about it tonight and see what they think.” </p><p>Yamiji-sensei smiles. “I knew you’d come around, Akaashi-san. As a team, we are all responsible for each other. I look forward to hearing about what your parents think tomorrow.” </p><p>Akaashi bites the inside of his mouth hard and nods. He thinks about what the second years will say when they find out about this, and his stomach twists painfully. </p><p>“Now, go home, please, Akaashi-san. I need to get some work done.”</p><p>Akaashi closes the office door and slinks out of the club room, careful to hide from his teammates in the gym below so they can’t see him and call his name.</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>“Bokuto-san, sweetheart, do you know what happened?”</p><p>Bokuto meets Okumura-sensei, the school counselor, outside of his homeroom, as she gathers the last of Bokuto’s belongings from the floor. All of it is stacked precariously in her arms. He notices that the Yakult he left in his desk has burst open and stained his math notebook, and has dripped onto Okumura-sensei’s sweater. </p><p>Bokuto dabs at his wet cheeks and his chest heaves a few times. “No, I really don’t, Okumura-sensei. It wasn’t me. All of my things were really organized today.”</p><p>Okumura-sensei hands Bokuto his things one by one as they re-organize his desk. She is very tall, and Bokuto is grateful to look up and see her looking back at him, earnestly listening. “Oh, I know it wasn’t you. Why would you leave your own things all over the place? I’ve asked your homeroom teacher and she says she didn’t see anything. Have you had any disagreements with anyone lately?” </p><p>Bokuto considers his nearly daily run-ins with the other second years as he shuffles through the loose notes Okumura-sensei hands him, and he shakes his head no. “Maybe someone from the volleyball team is pranking me.”</p><p>“Eh, Bokuto-san, this isn’t a fun prank. This isn’t something a friend would do. Do you think this is funny?” </p><p>“No, I don’t. At least my things are okay, though.”</p><p>“Except for your math notebook. It’s quite, uh, wet.”</p><p>Okumura-sensei gingerly hands Bokuto the milky math notebook, and he grimaces as he wraps it in his school clothes from his gym bag. “Bokuto-san, your uniform!” </p><p>“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll wash it when I get home. I’ll dry out the notebook at home, too. I need the notes.” </p><p>Okumura-sensei pats Bokuto’s shoulder. “I have extra notebooks in my office. Let’s go get one.” </p><p>“No, thank you, Okumura-sensei. I’ll come get one tomorrow if mine is ruined.”</p><p>“No, Bokuto-san, I insist. You need somewhere to write your math problems tonight. Wait here.” </p><p>Right as the sound of Okumura-sensei’s heels disappears down the hallway, Bokuto notices three heads poking into the classroom and just as quickly running away, sneakers squeaking on the tile. Sarukui-san, Washio-san, and Komi-san. Bokuto could have guessed it was them who threw his things around, and that they’d be stupid and cruel enough to come back and admire their handiwork. Bokuto doesn’t have the energy to chase after them today. </p><p>Before Okumura-san returns, he grabs his bag and leaves, careful to go the opposite direction of his teammates so they can’t see him running away. </p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi is later than usual returning home, and he is ambushed at the front door before he can even use his key. </p><p>“Keiji, get inside right now. You know you are supposed to call us if you are running late. Is your phone off?”</p><p>Akaashi pulls his phone out of his backpack in the doorway, and before he can respond, his mother takes it out of his hand. “You missed ten calls from your father and I. What is the point of having a cell phone if you’re going to keep it on silent?” Akaashi doesn’t respond. He slips out of his volleyball shoes as his mother clicks through his texts, emails, and call history. “Why were you so late?”</p><p>“I had to stay after practice to help clean and speak to Yamiji-sensei.”</p><p>His mother turns the sound on and hands the phone back, and Akaashi flicks it off again when she turns away, returning to the kitchen. “Why did he keep you so long?” </p><p>Akaashi falls onto the sofa in their living room, sinking into the cushions and relaxing his muscles, doing his best to melt. It’s dark outside already, and the whole house is dimly lit, the only sound the soft sizzle of oil coming from the kitchen. He has to cherish the quiet moments in between his mother’s demands, because he knows another question is coming soon. </p><p>“Answer me, Keiji. Why is your volleyball coach keeping you after practice?”</p><p>Akaashi’s eyes slide open and his jaw clenches again. His arms tighten around his gym bag. “He asked me to tutor a teammate.” </p><p>His mother reappears in the living room, holding the popping pan of tofu in one hand and a spatula in the other. She looks menacing no matter what she’s doing, even though she’s rather small and has soft, feminine features just like Akaashi. “You don’t have time for that, Keiji. How stupid of your sensei. Just because you have good marks doesn’t mean you have all this extra time.” </p><p>His mother returns to the kitchen. “Who does Yamiji-sensei want you to tutor?” </p><p>“You don’t know any of my teammates.” </p><p>“Don’t talk to me that way. Who is it, Keiji?”</p><p>“His name is Bokuto-san. He’s a second year. He needs help with math.”</p><p>“Eh? A second year? Is Bokuto-san an idiot? Yamiji-sensei wants you to tutor an idiot?” </p><p>“I don’t really know him, Okaa-san. He’s just bad at math and might get suspended from the team because of his grades.” </p><p>“Why does Yamiji-sensei care so much about Bokuto-san? Why not focus on the players with good grades like you instead? Why give you extra work to do?” Akaashi cannot possibly begin to answer the onslaught of questions. He wishes he knew. </p><p>She beckons Akaashi to come and eat, and yells for his father, who is working in his office. Akaashi finds it extraordinarily difficult to hoist himself up and through the small, smoky kitchen into the equally small, smoky dining area, where his mother sits expectantly, accompanied by three dishes of tofu, rice, and egg. </p><p>“I think it’s because Bokuto-san is the co-captain of the team. He’s the most talented player on the team.”</p><p>His mother spills some of the water she was pouring herself and inhales sharply. “The co-captain? What a joke. He’s a bad example for the rest of the team. You should be the co-captain instead, Keiji. You wouldn’t cause so much trouble.” </p><p>She doesn’t offer Akaashi any water, and he doesn’t reach for the carafe. His limbs feel heavy. “I don’t want to be any sort of captain.”</p><p>“You should aim higher. You should be captain, Keiji, because you are a hard worker and a good example. That’s what a captain is.” </p><p>His mother yells for his father again. The steam from the food feels dewy on Akaashi’s face. His stomach grumbles audibly, but he knows he cannot eat before his father decides to join. </p><p>“Keiji, who are Tatsuki, Yamato, and Haruki?” </p><p>Akaashi is thrown off by the abrupt change in subject, but he knew this was coming. She questions Akaashi about any names she doesn’t recognize when she goes through Akaashi’s texts. </p><p>“Three of my teammates. They are second years.”</p><p>“Why were they texting you?” </p><p>“Uh.” Akaashi has to lie. Especially as his father finally joins them in the dining room, he isn’t going to admit they were discussing the plans to mess with Bokuto’s stuff. Which he ultimately decided not to be a part of, opting to pretend Yamiji-sensei asked to meet with him, but he definitely didn’t do anything to stop it. “Plans for extra practice.”</p><p>“You’ll need extra practice if you’re planning on becoming captain one day,” His father chimes in as he sits down and begins eating without offering thanks for the food. Akaashi no longer feels like eating, especially not as his parents plan for his future in volleyball. Soon they’ll be discussing him like he’s not in the room. </p><p>“Can I go eat in my room, Otou-san? I want to work on some homework.”</p><p>“No, Keiji, we’re going to see what your father thinks about you tutoring Bokuto-san.” Akaashi shoots his mom a pained look, begging her to let the tutoring go, but she ignores it. </p><p>“Okaa-san, you said I didn’t - ”</p><p>“Oh, tutoring? That’s a great way to get on your teachers’ good sides. Will make you look good to universities as well,” his father says. </p><p>“But will he have time for tutoring with volleyball and homework?” </p><p>“I don’t see why not. Plus, Akaashi doesn’t do anything on Sundays. He could tutor on Sundays.”</p><p>Akaashi knows there’s no point in trying to rejoin the conversation. He also knows he’ll have to tell Yamiji-sensei he will help Bokuto, even if it’s on their only off day of the week. Even if it’s on the only day Akaashi gets to relax and read and be alone. </p><p>“Keiji, go on to your room. Do not touch your manga until you’ve shown us your finished homework.”</p><p>Akaashi leaves the untouched dinner behind, and neither of his parents mention it.</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Fresh from the shower, Bokuto changes into baggy sweatpants and an even baggier t-shirt. He is big, but somehow everything he owns is bigger. He throws his volleyball clothes and Yakult-stained uniform into the washing machine and accidentally adds way too much detergent. He sees the bright fabric softener bottles, stain remover, bleach, dryer sheets - he has no idea how to use them and thinks about adding something else to the wash to make sure his clothes are extra clean, but he decides not to. </p><p>The house is absolutely still. No sound, no lights on except in the kitchen and the laundry closet, no people except Bokuto. Neither of his parents are home, and neither of them have provided any information as to when they would be home. A normal weekday evening for Bokuto. </p><p>He doesn’t really mind. He can walk around in sloppy clothes with a towel wrapped around his head and eat whatever he wants for dinner. He can do his homework or not. Even when his parents eventually get home from work, or whatever they do after work, they never check on Bokuto. </p><p>Bokuto can’t cook - he doesn’t even think he knows how to work the stove or the rice cooker - and so he eats two bowls of cereal and tries to ignore how hungry he still feels after. He brushes and gels his hair in the mirror up into tall spikes and laments letting Konoha-san give him what could only loosely be called blonde streaks. It is more white than blonde, and it’s more random patches than streaks. He tosses his volleyball around his room. He checks on his drying, sour math notebook drying on the balcony, and it’s still soggy. And, after exhausting everything he can think of to pass time, Bokuto lets himself think about the day. </p><p>“Is there something wrong with me?” He asks out loud, leaning over the railing of the balcony and talking to the empty street below, and the crickets chirp back. The pages of his notebook flutter in the breeze. </p><p>“Am I stupid?” He asks his reflection in the sliding door. </p><p>“You need to stop crying, and maybe they will like you,” He says to himself in his bathroom mirror. He turns away from his reflection as the familiar sting returns to his eyes. </p><p>In the middle of his math homework, Bokuto lays his head down on his desk to rest his eyes, and he dreams of flying through the air, the shining eyes of his teammates turned toward him with love and admiration. His dreams are always filled with affection and friendship. Akaashi is there, too. </p><p>He jolts awake for a moment when someone arrives home around one in the morning and he moves to his bed. By the time Bokuto wakes up for school the next morning, he is alone again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 二</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bokuto Koutarou is alone in a few ways. Then, there is Akaashi Keiji, equally alone and equally reliant on survival instincts. Akaashi sees it as an absolute failure of his survival instincts that he now has to tutor Bokuto in math.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little big ten year story about Akaashi and Bokuto. </p><p>More tags, characters, and spice to come as I write and upload new chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bokuto Koutarou is alone in a few ways.</p><p>He is an only child. Based on his parents’ lifestyle, and ways they have addressed him in the past when they were angry, he knows he is the son of two obsessive professionals that never meant to have a child. </p><p>His mother and father leave for work before Bokuto wakes up for school, and they return after he has gone to bed. On Sundays, they move through the house avoiding Bokuto as much as they can. He can’t remember the last time the three of them left the house together for something that didn’t involve a meeting with Bokuto’s principal. Lately, they have been leaving Bokuto pocket money so he can occupy himself outside of the house on Sundays. </p><p>None of Bokuto’s extended family lives in Tokyo, and Bokuto doesn’t know any of them. He has vague memories of playing with cousins as a young child, who he thinks live in Gifu Prefecture, but he isn’t sure. No one has come around in years, and neither Bokuto nor his parents have gone in years. </p><p>And he wasn’t always without friends. Bokuto was beloved by teachers and students alike in his young childhood, when his personality quirks were perhaps funnier and more charming and not yet indicative of anything inherently Bokuto. His childishness was quickly punished as he became a teenager, but punitive efforts to squash it alienated him from his classmates and later, when Bokuto found volleyball, his teammates. Teachers and students alike found him embarrassing. And, Bokuto sometimes ruminates on, he has never received a confession. Not even on Valentine’s Day! White Day has never really gone well for him either, despite his enthusiasm. </p><p>But somehow, perhaps off tenacity alone, Bokuto has raised himself to be a strong but equally tender force of nature. His survival instincts have kept him alive and hopeful and showing up.</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Then, there is Akaashi Keiji, equally alone and equally reliant on survival instincts.</p><p>Akaashi is not an only child, but is the youngest of three. His older siblings have long departed the home, and they did the second they could. </p><p>There was never a time when his mother and father did not control every aspect of his life, or did not surveill him to the point that secrets are impossible. Akaashi has few memories of his childhood. He thinks there may have been a time when he felt relaxed and comfortable at home, but he can’t say for sure. The good memories feel constructed. </p><p>As a child, he fought back, first asking for what he wanted, then demanding it, then screaming and clawing and kicking for it, but none of it resulted in any sort of freedom. He excelled in school and in sport because his parents told him anything less than excellence was unacceptable, not because he liked school or sports. He liked books and writing and cooking, but writing or cooking classes were not a part of his parents’ plan. Anything less than what his parents demanded resulted in Akaashi locked in his bedroom with all belongings confiscated. In middle school he reached a point of extreme exhaustion and gave up, yielding completely to the lack of choice. Akaashi would have done anything to avoid being locked in his room again, or have another volume of manga taken away and never returned. So, Akaashi did whatever it took to avoid conflict.</p><p>He does whatever he can to effortlessly exist and savor the few moments he has to do what he wants to do. He takes whatever position will keep him safe and secure and uninvolved. He mostly manages to blend in, but girls still confess and classmates still gravitate toward him. He’s handsome and approachable and interesting, despite trying to be anything but. </p><p>Akaashi sees it as an absolute failure of his survival instincts that he now has to tutor Bokuto in math. </p><p>“Hey, Bokuto-san.”</p><p>Akaashi approaches Bokuto before practice starts, after they’ve dropped their things in the club room and changed into their practice uniforms. Bokuto is stretching, his nose nearly to his knee, but his head pops up, his heavy, tall hair wobbling. A cool breeze pushes in through the open gym doors and scatters Bokuto’s flyaways across his face. It feels like rain.</p><p>“Hey, Akaashi-san.” Akaashi almost has to look away as Bokuto gazes up at him with giant hazel eyes, smiling hesitantly but still smiling nonetheless. He’s surprised Bokuto can even look at him after their conversation yesterday. Akaashi feels sick to his stomach as he sits close by and begins to stretch as well. The rest of the team is scattered across the gym floor, and the third years set up the net. </p><p>“Yamiji-sensei asked me to help you with math,” Akaashi chokes out, mirroring Bokuto’s stretch. Bokuto switches legs and effortlessly lays his chest across his thigh. He turns slightly to look over at Akaashi. “Hmm. He’s tried to do this before but no one would tutor me. He must think you’re a pushover.”</p><p>Akaashi’s mouth drops open and Bokuto smirks, his eyes sinister. “You’d do anything Yamiji-sensei says, huh, Akaashi-san.”</p><p>“Uh. No, I wouldn’t. That’s better than not doing anything he says, though.” Akaashi hoists himself up and dips into a lunge. “Plus, I told Yamiji-sensei no, but my parents are making me.” </p><p>“So, you’d do anything your parents say.” Akaashi grits his teeth as Bokuto moves closer in an identical lunge, watching Akaashi expectantly for his reaction. The guilt Akaashi felt as he approached Bokuto melts into frustration. “It’s obvious why some people on the team don’t like you, Bokuto-san.” Bokuto laughs and Akaashi thinks Bokuto must actually be insane. </p><p>The third years tell everyone practice is starting in five minutes, and that if Konoha-san doesn’t stop sticking volleyballs in his shirt to look like breasts, the whole team is going to run hills. </p><p>“Okay, sorry, sorry, I was only joking,” Bokuto says as Akaashi stands up and reaches down toward his sneakers. “Deflecting,” Akaashi responds, and Bokuto just blinks. </p><p>“Either way, I could use your help in math. I wanna get my grades up so I can go to university and play volleyball.” Akaashi wants to say more cruel things to him, but bites it back. “What is your math grade right now? It can’t be too bad yet. We’ve only been in school a month.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m failing, Akaashi-san. I have a hard time with the homework most days, so I’m never prepared for the weekly quiz.” </p><p>“You’re...failing.” Akaashi repeats. </p><p>“Yep, failing. And, you know, stupid things like - I did my homework on a loose sheet of paper last night because my math notebook got ruined yesterday. Ueno-sensei wouldn’t accept it because it wasn’t in my math notebook.”</p><p>“Wait, really? So you got a zero?”</p><p>“Mhm. That sort of thing happens to me a lot.”</p><p>“What happened to your notebook?”</p><p>“Sarukui-san, Washio-san, and Komi-san dumped everything out of my homeroom desk. I had a Yakult in there and they spilled it on my notebook.”</p><p>Akaashi freezes. He tries to shake himself loose to not give himself away, but Bokuto notices his discomfort and mistakes it for concern. “It’s okay, Akaashi-san. I was upset about it yesterday but I feel better about it today. Plus,” Bokuto lowers his voice and brings his mouth close to Akaashi’s ear. “I’m used to them picking on me. They’ve been doing it since the beginning of last year.” </p><p>Akaashi feels like he’s dodged a bullet. Bokuto doesn’t suspect him as being part of the planning process. But Akaashi wasn’t expecting the intense wave of guilt he feels and the accompanying, almost vomit-inducing spasms in his gut. Bokuto offers to help Akaashi to his feet as Taniguchi calls everyone to the court for what looks like a team meeting. </p><p>“Are you okay, Akaashi-san? You look like you’re going to be sick.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m fine. I - let’s talk more about tutoring after practice, Bokuto-san.”</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Fukurōdani’s volleyball team is one of the best in Tokyo, and has been consistently highly ranked for years. In their current iteration, they could confidently face many of the teams across both the Kanto region and the country. Fukurōdani’s past success, as well as Yamiji-sensei’s reputation as a patient and loving but dedicated hardass, brings students from all over the region to the Academy. </p><p>They have never won the Interhigh, but have been one of the two Tokyo teams in the Interhigh for the past five years. Last year, the team made it to the Interhigh quarterfinals with first year Bokuto as an outside hitter and ace. Bokuto received a lot of attention from representatives and scouts from other high schools as well as universities, and after matches, Yamiji-sensei had to sheepishly explain to the reps that despite Bokuto’s quirks, and often his hysterical tears after a match, he was indeed a rare talent and a valuable addition to any team. </p><p>Last year’s team was a perfectly cohesive unit on the court, led by a group of consistent, strict, and disciplined third years. But now, a year later, those third years are gone. This year’s Fukurōdani is on the cusp of the Tokyo Metropolis Qualifiers for Kantou Tournament with a starting lineup of mostly second years, a few third years, and Akaashi, the lone first year. It is obvious the team has lost some rigor and cohesion without the graduated third years, and that Bokuto, by not much fault of his own, has become a distraction for some members of the team. </p><p>Yamiji-sensei has gathered everyone for a team talk at the beginning of practice. Taniguchi, the third year captain, stands next to Yamiji-sensei and the two managers, Yukie and Kaori, and everyone gathers around. Bokuto, the co-captain, rocks eagerly in the front of the crowd until Taniguchi waves him over to stand with them. Akaashi stands in the back of the group, watching between heads as Yamiji-sensei starts.  </p><p>“We cannot afford to have anything holding us back right now. We have our first qualifying match next weekend, and we are fortunate to be in such a good starting place because of last season’s successes. We are a top eight seed. We don’t play until the fourth round of the upcoming tournament. We have an extra week of practice, and less matches to play. I should feel some excitement in all of you, or some anticipation, or some intensity. Instead, you are distracted. You are elsewhere.”</p><p>Akaashi looks around, and everyone’s head is politely bowed, some nodding along to commiserate with what Yamiji-sensei is saying. He notices Sarukui, Washio, and Komi stealing quick glances at each other, perhaps wondering if they’ve all gathered together to discuss the incident with Bokuto, and then Komi looks straight at Akaashi. </p><p><i>Narc</i>, he mouths. </p><p>“I am spending more of my time than I should wondering if your heads are in the right place. Many of your actions tell me your heads are not in the right place. I called this meeting in order to discuss this.”</p><p>This prompts more muttering and shuffling within the group. Akaashi, shaking with nerves, slips behind one of the taller first years near the back of the group. </p><p>“It’s because of Bokuto-san!”</p><p>Everyone turns toward Konoha at once, and the shock is palpable. Konoha isn’t one of Bokuto’s usual tormentors. Taniguchi steps forward and puts an arm in front of Bokuto, and Yamiji-sensei has the same idea, stepping in front of Bokuto and moving toward Konoha. The crowd parts, leaving Konoha alone in the middle, facing Yamiji-sensei. Akaashi cranes to see Bokuto, but he’s covered entirely from the line of sight by Taniguchi, who is flanked by a wide-eyed Yukie and Kaori. </p><p>“And what exactly did Bokuto-san do to deserve this outburst?” Yamiji-sensei demands. Konoha looks around frantically for support, but is forced to go on solo as no one else speaks, or even moves. “He is always emotional! And, and, no matter how he behaves, he starts every match!”</p><p>“You’d like me to bench Bokuto because he is emotional? Konoha-san, have we ever lost a match because Bokuto-san was too emotional? Has he ever not fulfilled his duties as co-captain because he was too emotional?”</p><p>Yamiji-sensei waits patiently, but no one speaks, and Konoha doesn’t even breathe.</p><p>“We all have our moments, our weaknesses. Bokuto is aware of his and succeeds on the court despite. We are better with him, and Konoha-san, we are better off without these outbursts.”</p><p>“But he - !” </p><p>Komi says, and Washio smacks him in the head, hissing quietly, “Shut up!” </p><p>“Do you have something to add, Komi-san?” Yamiji-sensei’s tone is noticeably more angry now, and Taniguchi steps forward again. “Sensei, before this gets out of hand, maybe we should - ”</p><p>“He doesn’t get along with any of the other second years! He only causes trouble between us, and lies about us. He embarrasses the team, he is always getting in trouble - ”</p><p>That seems to do something to Bokuto, and he jerks forward, trying unsuccessfully to move around Taniguchi to reach Komi. Taniguchi catches him around the waist and holds him fast. Bokuto doesn’t struggle but screams instead, sending Yukie and Kaori scattering. “Bullshit, Komi-san!” It echoes heavily in the gym and Akaashi turns away from the loud sound. </p><p>“Yes, Taniguchi-san is right. We’ve all heard more than enough. I am only going to say one more thing.” Yamiji-senpai motions for Konoha-san to move back into the group, and he stands as far from Komi, Washio, and Sarukui as he can. Komi is red and seething, and Washio and Sarukui are nearby, rigid as boards. </p><p>“You all do not have to be friends. But, without exception, you must be teammates. If anyone on this team ever treats Bokuto-san like less than a teammate again, you will immediately be removed from the team, no exceptions. Are we clear? Komi-san, Konoha-san?”</p><p>Two strained yes-es come from the crowd. </p><p>“Washio-san? Sarukui-san?”</p><p>“But, Sensei, we - ”</p><p>“Are we clear?”</p><p>Two more yes-es, this time more defeated.</p><p>“Akaashi-san, are we clear?”</p><p>It takes a moment for Akaashi to register that he’s being spoken to. When he realizes all eyes are on him, including Yamiji-sensei’s, his throat burns with stomach acid. “Uh. Of course, Yamiji-sensei.” He can feel the second years’ eyes on him. Akaashi knows he’ll have to find a new way to survive, but anything less dramatic seems okay to him. Anything to keep the team from looking at him like this ever again.   </p><p>Yamiji-sensei smiles, satisfied. “I’d expect nothing less from you, Akaashi-san. Now, everyone, are we clear?” There is a simultaneous yes, thank you, and quick bow from the team, and Taniguchi releases a slumped, seething Bokuto from his protective hug. </p><p>“I cannot expect the same amount of skill as last year’s team, because, as a whole, we currently are less experienced and are in the process of incorporating a new setter. But, I can expect the same amount of focus, effort, work, and determination, if not more. You all have large shoes to fill, and you have not been acting like it. I will not tolerate dramas like this in the future. Now, Taniguchi will go over some information about next weekend’s trip and matches, and then he will escort you outside for some laps.” </p><p>The group breaks apart and scuttles away from Yamiji-sensei, off to their respective activities and responsibilities. Akaashi walks over to Bokuto after Taniguchi finishes whispering something into Bokuto’s ear. Even though Bokuto is rather large, he seems so small standing alone in the now empty corner of the gym. Approaching him brings everything back into perspective for Akaashi, and Bokuto returns to his original size. </p><p>“Hey, Bokuto-san.” Bokuto’s face is noticeably tight and his mouth is pressed into a hard, straight line, but his eyes are darting everywhere but toward Akaashi’s own. It makes Akaashi dizzy.</p><p>“Oh, haha. Hey, Akaashi-san. Looking forward to running?” Bokuto’s chest is so tight, he is almost wheezing out his words. Akaashi shrugs and nods toward Taniguchi, who instructions they are both ignoring. </p><p>“Everything okay with Taniguchi-senpai? You aren’t in trouble, are you?”</p><p>“Oh, haha. Yeah, it’s cool. He said, ‘Don’t be embarrassed.’ Yeah, I’m totally not embarrassed.” But Bokuto is indeed so painfully, awkwardly embarrassed, Akaashi feels it secondhand. Bokuto is tensing his body so hard, Akaashi wonders when he’ll crack down the middle. </p><p>“That’s good.” Akaashi makes the quick decision to lie. New survival tactics. “I didn’t know the other second years were like that.”</p><p>Bokuto’s face softens and curls slowly into a menacing grin. “But that’s how you’ve been acting toward me since you got here, too. You aren’t friends with them?” </p><p>Caught. A warm blush spread across Akaashi’s cheeks but he tries not to move his eyes away from Bokuto’s, so he doesn’t look even more like a liar. His teeth grind together as his jaw clenches. “Uh. No.”</p><p>“Not anymore, you aren’t.”</p><p>Bokuto laughs, his voice a loud peal through the mumbling gym. For Akaashi, Bokuto’s mood swings have not lost their startling, nauseating quality, feeling sort of like the unexpected lurch of a boat. “I don’t like them. They were just telling me, uh. They were just including me.”</p><p>“Including you in their plots against me.” Bokuto says, pointing to himself, raising his eyebrows. “I was right earlier, Akaashi-san. You are a pushover.” Bokuto smiles again, ignoring Akaashi’s extreme discomfort. “Stop saying that,” Akaashi demands, but Bokuto begins to walk away from him toward the group preparing to run, stepping backwards to continue to face Akaashi. Bokuto tucks his ill-fitting practice jersey into his equally ill-fitting shorts, both billowing as he moves. </p><p>“You’re stupid, then. To think they were your friends and weren’t just using you to hurt me.”</p><p>Akaashi blinks incredulously at this big mess of streaky hair and watery eyes. “Why do you think everything is about you? Why do you make everything about you?” </p><p>Bokuto doesn’t smile or seem satisfied with that response. The rude playfulness falls away from his expression as he stops moving and lowers his voice. “Why did you do whatever Komi-san, Washio-san, and Sarukui-san said just so you wouldn’t be alone?”</p><p>Akaashi’s hand aches and begs to make contact with Bokuto’s face, but Taniguchi’s irritated voice chimes before a suddenly ineloquent, wounded Akaashi can swing. This is a brand new urge. His skin prickles with adrenaline. He hates the way Bokuto presses his buttons. </p><p>“Bokuto-san! Akaashi-san! Can you please make your way over here so we can get started?” </p><p>Bokuto turns away and runs off, out the gym doors, leaving the rest of the team in his wake. Bokuto is a strong runner, Akaashi knows, and he usually has no plans to stay in pace with the group. Especially not today, after all that. Taniguchi orders everyone else to follow Bokuto and stops Akaashi in the gym doorway. It’s just the two of them. It’s drizzling, the sky lightly layered with grey clouds. </p><p>“Is Bokuto-san okay, Akaashi-san?” Taniguchi asks, hands squarely on hips but face soft. It’s funny to Akaashi how much Taniguchi looks like a team captain, with close-cropped hair, stern features, and commanding voice. Taniguchi’s lanyard bounces noisily against his chest each time he shifts, the whistle and stopwatch jangling together. </p><p>“I don’t know. We were arguing just then.” They both turn toward the gym doors and look up at the sky as a soft clap of thunder rings out from miles away. “We aren’t friends, Taniguchi-senpai.” </p><p>“You know, Bokuto-san likes to run ahead when he needs to cry.” Taniguchi’s voice is warmer when he talks about Bokuto than Akaashi expected. “He is very different. But it doesn’t seem like you torment him like the other second years do. And Yamiji-senpai told me you agreed to tutor Bokuto-san.”</p><p>Akaashi crosses his arms tight over his chest and huffs. “I didn’t have a choice.”</p><p>“Bokuto-san is a good kid. He’s the right person to acquaint yourself with here, Akaashi-san. My advice to you as a new member of the team. To some, his emotions make him weak, and a target. You don’t have to be that way.” </p><p>“Seems like a lot of pressure on me.”</p><p>“Honestly? I am pressuring you, and so is Yamiji-sensei. You are the starting setter. Bokuto-san is your ace.”</p><p>Bokuto and Akaashi flow well in practice together already, but there is still hesitation there, from a lack of trust or knowledge of each other. Akaashi knows most, if not all, of the hesitation is on his side of things. Bokuto frightens Akaashi. Bokuto is honest, he takes up space. He feels things and brings everyone into his mood. A lot of the members of the team simply rely on Bokuto’s skill and work on the court without intimate knowledge of what fuels him, what drives him, what prompts his easy tears. But Akaashi has to be the one to harness that energy and chaos and make it flow? He has to understand it? </p><p>“I know he is. But I don’t like him.” Akaashi adds firmly, because it seems like no one listens to this part: “I don’t want to be his friend.”</p><p>“I can tell you prefer to stay detached, Akaashi-san. But Bokuto-san is, um. He’s frankly not someone you can detach from. He’s everywhere. For all of our sakes, give him a chance.”</p><p>Nothing has ever been more obvious to Akaashi. He is linked to Bokuto whether he likes it or not, and he doesn’t like it. Taniguchi nudges Akaashi out the gym doors and gives him the running drill - 5 laps of the school grounds, don’t even think about skipping a lap, Taniguchi knows how fast he runs - and Akaashi runs through the soggy school grounds, trailing the team, until all the frustration and resentment is pushed out of his chest and replaced with ragged breaths.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 三</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s the only day of the week Akaashi doesn’t have to see or speak to Bokuto, and yet here Bokuto is, surely persisting about tutoring despite the tension between them. Worming his way into Akaashi’s mind per usual. Akaashi desperately wishes Bokuto would read the room and leave him alone. But as he has learned, Bokuto is, to put it lightly, socially inept.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little big ten year story about Akaashi and Bokuto.</p><p>More tags, characters, and spice to come as I write and upload new chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bokuto calls Akaashi on Sunday morning.</p><p>Bokuto calls Akaashi when he is lying comfortably in his bed, warm cup of tea resting on his stomach and shaking ever so slightly with the beat of his heart, manga propped on his ribs. It’s a chilly spring morning, and Akaashi’s windows are cracked open. The shutters breathe in and out with the movement of the wind, and Akaashi breathes in and out in tandem. He hasn’t seen or heard his parents all morning; the only noise has been the hypnotic click of the shutters. In and out, in and out. Akaashi’s eyes flutter closed every few minutes, but he gets knocked gently back awake by the heavy tip of his head, and the soft images of his dreams dissipate. </p><p>The vibration of the phone on the floor next to him breaks the sleepy cycle. Akaashi brings the phone to his face and feels nausea bloom in his lower abdomen.  It’s Bokuto. He knew it was Bokuto. Who else would call him right now? Who would call him at all? He considers rejecting the call and going back to his morning. It’s the only day of the week he doesn’t have to see or speak to Bokuto, and yet here Bokuto is, surely persisting about tutoring despite the tension between them. Worming his way into Akaashi’s mind per usual. Akaashi desperately wishes Bokuto would read the room and leave him alone. But as he has learned, Bokuto is, to put it lightly, socially inept. </p><p>“Hello.” </p><p>“Morning, Akaashi-san. Can I come over today?”</p><p>Akaashi groans and holds the phone away from him at arm’s length. He sets the tea onto the floor and sits up cross-legged on his bed. “Can you what?”</p><p>“Come over today. For tutoring.” </p><p>“Are you serious?” Akaashi hopes his rising irritation comes through over the phone. There’s some commotion on Bokuto’s end. “Did I interrupt something, Akaashi-san?” </p><p>“You cannot come over, Bokuto-san. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”</p><p>“I-“ Bokuto begins to protest but stops. “Okay then. Can I ask you some math questions over the phone?”</p><p>Akaashi begrudgingly closes his manga and tosses it to the side, flopping forward onto his stomach and burying his cheek into his covers. “It can’t wait until tomorrow?” </p><p>“I have a quiz tomorrow. I’m having trouble with geometry. Can you help me with the study questions? Ueno-sensei is going to tell Yamiji-sensei to suspend me from volleyball if I fail again,” Bokuto says, halfway to pleading.</p><p>“Okay. Read the problem to me. Or send a picture of it.” </p><p>Without any further invitation, and without a breath first, Bokuto begins speaking quickly, explaining unclearly and using language that only someone who surely did not understand trigonometry could use. Akaashi shuffles through his desk and pulls out a notebook and pen but can’t possibly even make a sketch of the triangle in question based on Bokuto’s description. Akaashi has to raise his voice considerably to speak over Bokuto’s rambling. “What are you even talking about, Bokuto-san? What is a...okay, no. Send me a picture of the -“ </p><p>“Can we meet in the park? Like the one close to the school? I’m not good at explaining it. It won’t take long and it is a beautiful day.” Akaashi can hear Bokuto smiling eagerly and Akaashi wants to scream, his hand fisting uncomfortably tight around his pen. Akaashi is resilient and he will not be worn down. Bokuto’s insistence and lack of tact is not charming. </p><p>“And I will bring food. What do you like, Akaashi-san?” </p><p>Akaashi groans. He can almost hear Bokuto’s teasing voice calling him a pushover. “Jesus. Okay. I like anything. I’m hungry, so bring two of whatever you get. I will be there in thirty minutes.”</p><p>Bokuto laughs softly, triumphantly, and it crackles in Akaashi’s ear. “Wear layers, Akaashi-san. It’s chilly out.”</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Akaashi tells his parents he is going to tutor Bokuto, but it isn’t enough information. His mother’s usual barrage of questions and demands comes next. How long will you be gone? Where does Bokuto-san live? You aren’t going to his house? Why not? How often are you going to be tutoring him? Give us his phone number and his parents’ phone numbers. Once you get there, send us your location. </p><p>Then: You don’t need to hang out with Bokuto-san outside of tutoring. Come straight home afterward.  </p><p>“I wasn’t planning on it.” Akaashi replies wearily. </p><p>Finally: From now on, Bokuto should come here for tutoring. </p><p>Not on Akaashi’s life will Bokuto ever step foot into his home. For both of their sakes. </p><p>Bokuto doesn’t have to tell anyone that he’s going out, because his parents are either still asleep or aren’t home. He doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. He takes the pocket money from the counter and leaves. </p><p>They both live close to the school grounds - close enough to walk if they feel like it, far enough to ride the bus a few stops if they don’t. Their neighborhood is densely packed and usually bustling, but on Sunday mornings, the only other people out are the older men and women shuffling about, sorting their trash or weeding their small gardens. Both Bokuto and Akaashi know to greet the obaa-chans and ojii-chans as they walk by. Akaashi ignored a grandmother’s greeting once and got a flying newspaper to the dome. </p><p>Akaashi lives on the edge of his neighborhood, the last row of tall, narrow homes before a stretch of emptiness to the east, to his left as he walks. He’ll run straight into the walls of Fukurōdani Academy soon, as soon as the power lines stop and the sprawling, silver boundary of the Academy begins. He blinks away the glare from the large windows that make up the sides of the school building, blinded by the glass that sparkles against the austere white stone exterior of the school that passes for a Catholic institution to those who don’t know. </p><p>Akaashi has to wind all the way around the school grounds to reach the park, and, through the misty humid haze of the morning, sees a blurry Bokuto walking toward him from the other side of the school, hobbling a little with a rip up his sweatpants. Akaashi breathes in deep through his nose, washing his lungs with cold clean air, and exhales hard. </p><p>It’ll be over before you know it, Akaashi tells himself as Bokuto shouts, from too far away to properly communicate, “AKAASHI-SAN!” The families littering the park, enjoying their quiet mornings, all turn toward Bokuto. Akaash sees ducks startle and fly away from the pond. </p><p>Bokuto waves as they grow closer, but how could Akaashi possibly miss him? A large konbini bag swings in one hand and his school bag hangs in the other, making the pure sprawl of his body unbelievably large. Bokuto is strong and big and stands out sorely. It makes Akaashi shrink into himself and find relief in knowing he’ll never take up that much space, or make such a display of himself by just existing. </p><p>“Hey, Akaashi-san! I brought a bunch of snacks and buns so you don’t hate me for ruining your Sunday.” Bokuto grins and plops down onto the wet grass, wincing and hissing as the water seeps into his sweatpants. The dewy green of the park slopes gently down away from them to a pond surrounded by trees, and beyond the trees towers Tokyo proper. Akaashi gazes off at the buildings as he lays out the blanket he brought and Bokuto hops onto it, and the blanket yanks out of Akaashi’s hands. “You would bring a blanket, Akaashi-san. This is why you’re the smart one.”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t look at Bokuto, still peering at the glints of sunlight atop all the tallest buildings. The sun will come out soon. “Yeah, and you wouldn’t. So, here we are.”</p><p>Bokuto’s back is to the downhill, and he anchors himself with his hands behind him as to not teeter backward. His knees bump Akaashi’s as he scoots forward, and the two of them are now, in Akaashi’s opinion, far too close together. Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind. Bokuto immediately lays into a steaming pork bun, and hands one to Akaashi. “What happened to your pants?” Akaashi asks, trying to shift farther from Bokuto without him noticing. Bokuto pulls at his ripped sweatpants to reveal the mutilated left leg, his skin underneath nicked as well, scratched but not bleeding. “Heh, what do you think happened?” Akaashi chews, smoothing out the fabric on the legs of his own fitted athletic pants. “Uh. You got attacked by a dog.” </p><p>“I tried to take the shortcut through the school grounds and I got caught on the top of the fence where all the wiring is. I’m good at climbing stuff but I got pretty tangled. It was either wear my messed up pants or show up here in my underwear.” Bokuto laughs throughout the story, as if it’s a normal, relatable story, and Akaashi nods along. He doesn’t think he can be surprised anymore by Bokuto’s antics. </p><p>“Yeah, glad you didn’t show up in your underwear.” </p><p>“It would be too distracting, hmm?” Bokuto grins and Akaashi’s eyebrows squeeze together in annoyance. “No, I just think people should wear pants to go out in public.” </p><p>Bokuto groans. “You’re so serious all the time. It’s a nice day, no school. Why frown so much?” Akaashi chews and swallows his last bite of bun, crumples up the wrapper, and shoves it back into the bag. He sees sweat on Bokuto’s face, and notices his own, running down his back and wetting the roots of his hair, despite the cool morning. “Because I don’t want to be here, Bokuto-san.”</p><p>Akaashi doesn’t mean for his words to fall so heavily between them. He inhales sharply but finds he cannot breathe them back in and try again. Bokuto has already, quickly, wilted. Bokuto stops eating, his bag of chips falling to his lap, clasped tightly in his hands. “I know you don’t.”</p><p>Akaashi turns away to avoid the mounting awkwardness and to take the notebook and pencil out of his backpack, and Bokuto does the same, without the same excited, flowing movements as he usually does everything. There’s a bright layer of sun on them now, as the clouds move farther apart, and Akaashi sees Bokuto’s eyes shine and blink and squeeze as he flips through his textbook. Akaashi is closer to Bokuto than he’s ever been, and he feels sick seeing his pain up close. He feels an urge to backtrack, apologize, comfort, but he doesn’t know how. His urge to run isn’t activating - he’s frozen in place. He stares at the ripples in Bokuto’s shirt as the wind blows through it, doing anything to not watch Bokuto cry. </p><p>Akaashi stumbles over his words. “Show me, um. What you need help with, Bokuto-san. I want you to pass the quiz. And keep playing. I want you to keep playing volleyball.” </p><p>Bokuto looks up from his position, hunched over his books. He smiles wide with his mouth but it doesn’t stretch to his eyes. It’s almost creepy. “You don’t give a shit about me, Akaashi-san.” </p><p>Akaashi’s mouth tastes of bile. “Don’t, uh. That’s not true.”</p><p>“It is,” Bokuto says, pointing at Akaashi with the eraser end of his pencil. His eyes are still wet and he has a few wet tracks down his cheeks, and Akaashi wishes he would wipe them away. “You wouldn’t be here if Yamiji-sensei and Taniguchi-senpai weren’t forcing you.” </p><p>“I would. I don’t do things because other people tell me to.” Bokuto lets out a surprised laugh that’s more like a bark. “Yes, you do.” Bokuto’s voice is rising in volume and pitch, and as he rises from his seated position and clambers onto his knees, Akaashi shrinks back a little in Bokuto’s shadow. He thinks for a moment that Bokuto is getting up to leave, but Bokuto just cowers over him. “Are you here because you love math? Because this is how you wanna spend your Sunday?” </p><p>Akaashi hears the mocking implications in Bokuto’s voice. You’re a pushover, Akaashi-san. He wants to hit Bokuto. Anything to release the tension building to a critical point inside his body. Anything to keep Bokuto from being right. He scrambles to his feet so he can look down at Bokuto, but Bokuto just stands up as well, and Akaashi has lost the height advantage. “Why do you care so much why I’m here, Bokuto-san? Can’t I just help you with math?” </p><p>“Because I want to be friends with you!” Bokuto shouts without missing a beat, and Akaashi feels, in a chilling wave, sweat prick at every pore in his body. He loses the fight, flight, or freeze nervous system roulette once again and he can’t think of a single thing to do or say in response. </p><p>“What?” Akaashi asks, after far too long of the two of them staring at each other. “Why?” </p><p>Akaashi can feel Bokuto vibrating. He grows increasingly aware of the odd scene they are putting on at this public park. He also doesn’t like how softly and warmly Bokuto is looking at him now, with a hint of pity. “I like you, Akaashi-san.” </p><p>“You like me?” Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice that Akaashi doesn’t take to his mood swings very quickly. Bokuto is already sitting down on the blanket again, resituating the school supplies around him and digging back into his chips. The fight sequence is over for him. Akaashi’s brain is still swimming with cortisol as he dizzily rejoins Bokuto on the ground. </p><p>“I don’t care that you were hanging out with the other second years. I don’t care about what you said - ”</p><p>Akaashi holds up his hands, desperate for Bokuto to stop talking for a second so Akaashi can catch up. “Hang on, Bokuto-san, I’m still trying to - ”</p><p>“You are so good at volleyball and we play really well together. I can be a good friend, Akaashi-san. I really want to be your friend. I want you to - ” </p><p>“Bokuto-san, stop talking for a second.” </p><p>“I want you to want to be here with me.”</p><p>And, in a smooth crawling movement forward, there are Bokuto’s big eyes again, staring, blinking expectantly, his face too close to Akaashi’s. He feels Bokuto’s hot breath on his face and Akaashi is breathing just as hard back. He notices that Bokuto smells clean, like bar soap, and a little like honey butter from the chips. He’s desperate for more space between them but feels something good in the heat of the closeness, and so, he stays put. </p><p>It’s an interesting feeling, to be wanted. Neither of them are sure they’ve ever felt it before. </p><p>“Akaashi-san.” Bokuto finally speaks, not moving away, speaking intimately into Akaashi’s space. “I don’t have any friends.” </p><p>Akaashi shakes his head, dropping it down to look at the blanket beneath them. He feels Bokuto’s breath blow back the hair that drapes on his forehead. “Yeah. Neither do I.” </p><p>There’s no question from Bokuto in response. Do you want a friend, Akaashi-san, or, do you like me, Akaashi-san, never come. Only a warm and satisfied silence. The gentlest of capitulations from Akaashi is all Bokuto needs to make himself at home. Bokuto smiles and backs away, reaching again for his textbook and plopping it into Akaashi’s lap.“Cool. Happy to be your friend, Akaashi.” </p><p>Akaashi bristles at the casual dropping of his honorific. It’s what they do on the court, but here, with that look Bokuto is giving him, it’s too much. “Akaashi-san.” </p><p>But Bokuto just continues to grin at Akaashi, and Akaashi wipes the beading sweat off his forehead with his shirt. He thinks of what Taniguchi said - give Bokuto a chance, for all of our sakes - but Akaashi decides he is letting this happen because he wants it to, not because someone told him to. At least, not entirely. Maybe he doesn’t have the energy to fight against it. Maybe it will make him a better setter for Bokuto. And maybe he wants more of that closeness. Akaashi isn’t sure which of these officially makes Bokuto his friend. </p><p>“Okay. Show me what you need help with, Bokuto-san.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 四</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Akaashi doesn’t exhale until Bokuto is completely engrossed in Taniguchi’s small portable whiteboard. He thinks, in a back part of his brain, is this what all friendships feel like?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little big ten year story about Akaashi and Bokuto. </p><p>More tags, characters, and spice to come as I write and upload new chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fukurōdani has their own personalized bus to use for sports-related travel. Taniguchi tells the team he had to fistfight the captain of the baseball team so that the volleyball team could use the bus over the weekend, but this is immediately debunked by Yukie, who says she saw Taniguchi bribe the baseball team captain. Taniguchi and Yukie are exchanging shoves when Akaashi arrives. He stands snugly next to Bokuto so that their arms touch, and Bokuto nudges him in greeting. </p><p>“What’s so important about using the bus?” Akaashi asks, and Bokuto elbows him in the ribs a little too hard. “Because it’s cool and it makes an impression when we arrive.” </p><p>Akaashi finds its design tacky, as it is painted in blocks of yellow, white, and black rather than in a nondescript solid color. It also has “Fukurōdani” in gold on both sides and an artistic rendering of an owl on the back door which, in Akaashi’s opinion, looks more fluffy than ferocious. </p><p>“Is it cool, though?” Akaashi asks, and co-captain Bokuto, watching with a grin, makes Akaashi load everyone’s bags into the bottom of the bus. </p><p>It’s Day 2 of the Tokyo Metropolis Qualifiers for Kantou Tournament, and Fukurōdani is entering as a top 8 seed in the fourth round. Their spirits are subdued and their nerves are calm and sleepy, and this relaxes Akaashi but infuriates Bokuto, who radiates team spirit at all times, whether it’s appropriate for the situation or not. </p><p>“Why isn’t everyone as excited as I am?” Bokuto asks Akaashi nervously, bouncing on the balls of his feet and slipping around in his loosely tied sneakers. </p><p>“It’s really early in the morning, Bokuto-san. Plus, they are probably thinking the match today will be easy.” </p><p>“But the team we’re playing will be the winners of their block so far. We’re the only thing standing in their way from reaching the quarterfinals. They’ll be motivated!” Akaashi has to ask Bokuto kindly but firmly to stop shouting. </p><p>“They’ll be tired. And they cannot compete with us, Bokuto-san. I don’t care how scrappy they are,” Akaashi says, touching Bokuto lightly on the arm, right under where his sleeve meets his bicep. It’s chilly outside, and Bokuto isn’t wearing his team jacket, so Akaashi feels his goosebumps prick under his hand. “Don’t get worked up. Everything will be fine. Think about how prepared we are, and how much extra practice you and I have put in the past few weeks. It’s just the fourth round.” </p><p>Bokuto notices the sleepy softness around Akaashi’s eyes and forehead. That softness is something he has been afforded a few times since they’ve become friends, and it makes Bokuto feel extraordinarily accomplished. Making Akaashi not-frown is a gift all his own, a special secret that only Akaashi’s dearest friend Bokuto knows. </p><p>“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi says, and Bokuto realizes he’s been daydreaming, looking dreamily at Akaashi’s forehead. Bokuto’s face turns pink as Yamiji-sensei and some other team members shuffle around them to board the bus. He smiles wide with all of his teeth. “Okay, Akaashi-san. I trust you.” </p><p>Akaashi climbs onto the bus a few strides behind Bokuto, but his feet are yanked out from underneath him. He falls backward and down the bus steps, and he is caught roughly by accosting hands that pull him to the side of the bus. He turns in his panic to see Komi, Washio, Sarukui, and Konoha, circled around him, glowering. The barely risen sun is behind them and makes them glow orange on their edges. </p><p>“What do you want?” Akaashi demands, taking too large of a step back and bumping against the side of the bus. He doesn’t think they would try anything this close to the coaches and other members of the team, but he doesn’t put it past them. He knows how stupid they can be. </p><p>“We aren’t gonna hit you,” Washio says. “We just wanna know why you snitched on us to Yamiji-sensei.” </p><p>Akaashi glances up at the bus windows and wonders if anyone is looking out of them and can see this, or if Bokuto will come looking for him soon. “I didn’t tell him. It was just really obvious who did it.” </p><p>“But you were a part of it, too. You planned it with us,” Komi says. “Why did you bail on us anyway?” Washio asks.</p><p>“It was easier to leave Bokuto alone. You all should leave him alone, actually,” Akaashi says, peeling his back off the side of the bus to walk away, and Sarukui pushes him back.</p><p>“He’s a fuck-up, Akaashi-san. Isn’t that why you were following us around anyway? Because we told you he was a fuck-up and we wanted to get him off the team, and you agreed.” Sarukui says, face close to Akaashi’s, his hands holding Akaashi’s shoulders against the bus. Akaashi wiggles in his grasp but Sarukui doesn’t let go. Washio, Komi, and Konoha seem panicked as if they didn’t expect the escalation, and Konoha says gently, cautiously, reaching out to touch Sarukui’s shoulder, “Sarukui, maybe we should - ”</p><p>“You’re jealous,” Akaashi says, eyes on Sarukui’s eyes, and he doesn’t know how true that is, but it’s as much as confirmed when Sarukui pushes him against the bus again, this time harder. Akaashi’s gut burns and he feels the itching in his hands again, yearning to make contact with Sarukui’s cheek. There are more hushed protests from the three behind Sarukui. </p><p>“You’ll be second to Bokuto-san for outside hitter no matter what.” Akaashi blinks at Sarukui and challenges him to reply. Sarukui, unable to hide his wounds, looks away. His grip on Akaashi loosens and Akaashi shoves Sarukui’s hands away. </p><p>“Hurry and get on the bus. Kou-chan is waiting on you,” Sarukui says to Akaashi’s back, but it’s only half-hearted snark, and it falls between the two of them. Akaashi turns around, digging his nails into his palm to steady his shaking arms. </p><p>“If you come near me again, I will punch you in the face.” Akaashi says to the four of them, to no one in particular and to all of them, and they all avoid his gaze. Akaashi adds, “And same with Bokuto-san. Stay away from him.” </p><p>Kaori pulls her window down with a startlingly loud and forceful click and sticks her head out. “What are you all doing down there? Get on the bus or we’re leaving you behind!” Bokuto’s face pops into the window right behind Kaori and Yukie’s seat, and he grins as he catches Akaashi’s eye, motioning at the empty seat next to him. Akaashi wonders if every friendship is this chaotic. </p><p>“You are both fucking weirdos,” Sarukui says through gritted teeth, looking up at Bokuto in the window, and Akaashi makes a tight fist with his right hand, resting it gently in his left palm. “I’m not joking about punching you,” Akaashi says as Sarukui, Komi, Washio, and Konoha shuffle past him and onto the bus without another word. When the bus doors shut behind Akaashi, he almost falls backward again, his head throbbing along with his chest. He steadies himself for a moment and takes a deep breath. </p><p>“That was scary,” Akaashi exhales as he sits next to Bokuto, the two of them jittering closer together as the bus engine roars to life. Akaashi feels woozy from adrenaline and lets his head fall back onto the seat to stop it from swimming. The normally very chatty Sarukui, Komi, and Washio sit quietly in the back, and Konoha sits uncomfortably in the middle of the bus, alone, two seats behind Akaashi and Bokuto. </p><p>“What was?” Bokuto asks, immediately probing with concern. “Where were you all that time? Are you okay?” The fear in Bokuto’s voice rises when Akaashi stays silent and his eyes don’t open. “Akaashi-san, are you hurt?” He waits a moment, then shakes Akaashi’s arm. “Are you awake?” </p><p>Akaashi turns his head slowly toward Bokuto and opens his eyes. “If I tell you, can you not shout about it?” </p><p>“Yes! I promise!” Bokuto shouts, quickly realizing what he’s done. “Whoops, sorry. Yes, I promise,” Bokuto whispers, bringing his head down and closer to Akaashi’s. </p><p>“If you don’t shout, I’ll share my breakfast with you. I packed something really good.” Bokuto nods, pawing at him, desperate for information. Akaashi pauses to swallow the unexpected, warm swell of pride he feels, and he laughs, a little giddy. “I, um. I told Sarukui-san I was going to punch him.”</p><p>It takes a second to register. Bokuto’s eyes grow huge and a grin spreads across his face, and he laughs loud and full. It’s so contagious, the ringing, clear elation in Bokuto’s laugh, and soon Akaashi is smiling in a way he doesn’t think he ever has. </p><p>“That’s...you...oh my god,” Bokuto says between gasps for air. “You’re insane. You’re so cool.” </p><p>The grin pulls at the sides of Akaashi’s mouth and hurts his lips, makes his jaw ache, and he tastes the salty tears from his eyes as he laughs so hard his head spins. They are doubled over each other, laughing into each other, Bokuto’s forehead on Akaashi’s shoulder and Akaashi’s hands on Bokuto’s thigh. They both try to speak but nothing but hiccoughs and further coughs of laughter come out, and Yamiji-sensei has to shut them up as Taniguchi’s warnings go ignored. </p><p>“You two should be resting. I’ll split you up if I have to.” Yamiji-sensei shakes his empty coffee mug at them from a few seats away, his tone stern but gently amused. Akaashi and Bokuto swallow their laughs and trap them in their chests, where they shake silently for a few minutes more. The rest of the bus sleeps or stares out the window as Akaashi and Bokuto look closely and excitedly at each other, still sharing the secret between them. </p><p>“I’ve never punched anyone before,” Akaashi says quietly as he catches his breath, pulling the cloth-wrapped box out of his bag and peeling it open. He sets the box where their two thighs touch and hands his chopsticks to Bokuto, who immediately takes half the egg and drops it onto his shirt. “Thanks, Akaashi-san!” He says with a full mouth. “It’s hard to eat on the bus.”</p><p>“No, you’re just clumsy.” Bokuto wrinkles his nose at Akaashi and Bokuto hands the chopsticks over. Akaashi sweeps up a mass of rice and pickled vegetables without dropping a single grain, and he glances over at Bokuto with a smirk. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, you’re so cool, Akaashi-san. I already said that.” Bokuto splays out a bit more and the movement of his thigh nearly knocks the bento off their laps. “But would you actually punch Sarukui-san, do you think?” </p><p>“I don’t know how to punch. But, if I was angry enough, I might try.”</p><p>“If Sarukui-san did something to me, would you punch him?” Bokuto sits up and looks at Akaashi eagerly, snatching another piece of egg from the box with his fingers. He thrusts the chopsticks into Bokuto’s hands with a whine. There’s a tease behind Bokuto’s question and Akaashi doesn’t know why it makes him feel nervous. </p><p>“Yeah. I would.” Akaashi doesn’t look up from the food. His answer was more honest than he intended and now he’s flushed. Bokuto takes a heaping pile of rice and then hands the chopsticks back by slipping them in between Akaashi’s fingers. </p><p>“I would do the same for you,” Bokuto says, mouth full of rice. Akaashi can feel Bokuto looking at him, but he can’t look over. He’s afraid of the affection he’ll see in Bokuto’s gaze, and he’ll feel uncomfortably cared for like he has since he and Bokuto started spending more time together. </p><p>“Uh. Thanks, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, passing over the rest of the food to Bokuto who hums in delight and devours it in dangerously few bites. “It’s my job,” Bokuto says, mouth full again. “Just wanna be a good friend.” </p><p>Is Bokuto a good friend? Akaashi has no friends to compare Bokuto to, no past friendships that went beyond a surface-level or forced connection. Bokuto is loud and aggressive and forward and infuriatingly bad at math, and Akaashi feels like he spends more time being frustrated at Bokuto and afraid of what Bokuto will do next than enjoying his time with him. But, despite Akaashi’s resistance, Bokuto makes him smile, and he stands, sits, runs, talks so close to Akaashi and makes him think there’s something he likes in the intimacy that used to feel threatening. Bokuto is the first to praise Akaashi’s efforts on the court, and he notices every little improvement Akaashi makes. Akaashi feels closely watched and just as closely admired, and maybe being watched with Bokuto’s big, friendly eyes isn’t so bad - </p><p>“You are a good friend,” Akaashi says, forcing himself to look over, holding his breath, and for a moment he is treated to a soft, sweet smile spreading across Bokuto’s face and a firm squeeze to his thigh before Taniguchi pops up in the seat behind them and pulls Bokuto into a tactical conversation. Akaashi doesn’t exhale until Bokuto is completely engrossed in Taniguchi’s small portable whiteboard. He thinks, in a back part of his brain, is this what all friendships feel like?</p><p> </p><p>----------</p><p> </p><p>Droplets of sweat from Akaashi’s hair drip onto the pavement in patterns like raindrops. He runs his hand from his hairline to his neck and wipes his hands on his uniform shorts. It wasn’t a particularly exciting match, and Fukurōdani won handily in two sets, but the other team fought with a exhausting brute force characteristic of large teenage boys with little tactical training or finesse. As perhaps unfortunate victors of round 4, tomorrow holds the quarterfinals, semifinals, and finals for Fukurodani, and Akaashi’s frustration is settling into his bones. </p><p>We should have settled things quicker. We shouldn’t have let their middle blockers have so much control. We shouldn’t have let Bokuto do so much work. Then, Akaashi is swarmed by adjacent thoughts: Konoha looked a little wobbly on the right side. I missed the timing on that set for Bokuto on his attack from the back. Komi didn’t seem as flexible as usual and missed some gets that were well within his reach. Taniguchi might have sprained his finger in that one play, but he seemed alright, although he would lie about it and play through the pain - </p><p>“Akaashi! Where the hell did you go? We were worried about you.” Taniguchi asks, hanging out of the door to the courtyard outside of the gymnasium. Bokuto comes up quickly behind Taniguchi and nearly knocks him over, earning him a slap on the head. </p><p>“I wasn’t feeling well, so I came out here for some fresh air. Sorry, Taniguchi-senpai, I - ”</p><p>“No, no honorifics when we’re in our uniforms. We’re all equal on the court,” Taniguchi interrupts, and Akaashi sits down on a step as Bokuto says, “Well, we aren’t on the court right now, Tani-chan,” and earns another slap and “At least you didn’t cry on the court today, Kou-chan”. </p><p>Taniguchi nudges Bokuto out of the way to speak to Akaashi. “Well, take your time. Cool down and we’ll plan to head out in thirty minutes or so. Team meeting back at school when we get home. Eat something and have more water. And stretch, please. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Taniguchi looks back as he closes the door. “You did a great job today, Akaashi. We’re all happy to have you here.” </p><p>“He’s right. You did amazing, Akaashi-san,” Bokuto says, settling in next to Akaashi, smelling distinctly of spray deodorant and melted ice cream. “My accuracy was down,” Akaashi replies, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them. “I misplaced a critical toss to you.” </p><p>“You mean when I was attacking from the back? I don’t care about that. And we ended up winning that point, in case you forgot. You’re not the only creative and amazing player on this team.” Bokuto teases, laying his arm heavily across Akaashi’s hunched shoulders. </p><p>“And you did too much work. Your thigh muscles are gonna give out tomorrow.” Bokuto yanks Akaashi into himself so Akaashi’s temple lays on Bokuto’s shoulder and their sides smush together. “That was nothing, Akaashi-san. I could play three more matches right now.” Bokuto looks over at Akaashi and notices he hasn’t softened yet. “Oi, Akaashi-san. Are you actually upset?” </p><p>“I’m allowed to be upset. We could have done better today,” Akaashi snaps, but neither of them pull away from each other. Bokuto picks up a package from the ground beside him and unwraps an ice cream bar, handing it to Akaashi after licking away the melted drips running down the stick. Akaashi shudders but takes the sticky thing.</p><p>“It’s melting, Bokuto-san.” </p><p>“Then eat it.” Akaashi groans and Bokuto squeezes him harder. They watch other high schoolers walk by with their parents and family members, some crying, some whooping and jumping in excitement, some completely stone-faced and surely seriously discussing tomorrow’s marathon for those teams still in the Qualifiers. Akaashi bites off a chunk of the bar and it’s delicious. It tastes like matcha and vanilla and flowers. </p><p>“Look at all the different uniforms. Which one is your favorite, Akaashi-san?”</p><p>“That, uh, blue one over there. What’s yours?”</p><p>“That yellow one, obviously.” Bokuto points to a familiar figure a few yards away. It’s Onaga-san, a first-year aspiring middle blocker, and their teammate.</p><p>“You mean the Fukurōdani uniform.” </p><p>Bokuto nods. “What? It’s my favorite.” </p><p>Akaashi tilts the ice cream toward Bokuto, and he takes a bite. “Taniguchi’s mom brought us the ice cream. She’s so great.”</p><p>Akaashi nods. “Does she do that a lot? Come to matches and bring snacks and stuff?” </p><p>“Oh yeah. She’s the best. I wish she were my mom. And Taniguchi would be a good brother. I’m an only child, so.” </p><p>Akaashi nibbles on the ice cream. His stomach is squeezing a little at the turn of conversation. “I’m glad my mom doesn’t come to any matches.” </p><p>Akaashi feels Bokuto’s arm pull tighter and more snug around him. “My mom doesn’t come either. Or my dad.” </p><p>They sit in silence for a few moments, settling further into each other. “It’s okay, Akaashi-san. We don’t need them.” Akaashi’s throat tightens and itches as he grows desperate to change the subject. “Have more of this ice cream, Bokuto-san.” </p><p>Bokuto leans into Akaashi and bites the ice cream. “Hey. Do you think you could call me something else? Now that we’re friends?”</p><p>Akaashi narrows his eyes at Bokuto. “Like what? Do you mean your first name?” </p><p>Bokuto sparkles. “Do you want to call me my first name? Do you want me to call you yours?” </p><p>“Whoa, hang on. I can call you Bokuto-chan, or Bokuto-kun? But that’s weird, because you’re older than me.”</p><p>“Please just call me Bokuto. You can call me Koutarou if you - ”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay, then just Bokuto. I can still call you Akaashi-san if you prefer, though. I know you’re weird about these things.” And Bokuto is grinning, madly, an evil genius that has wormed into the warmest parts of Akaashi and eaten half of his ice cream bar. Akaashi knows he has lost here, that Bokuto is going to get what he wants, and Akaashi is going to grow to like it, however reluctantly or slowly. </p><p>“Just Akaashi is good.” </p><p>Akaashi takes the last bite of his ice cream,  “Then we are really friends now. Really teammates, really friends. This is so cool.” </p><p>Akaashi laughs a little. “We weren’t before?”</p><p>“Now everybody knows it, Akaashi.” It feels good in Bokuto’s mouth, and he repeats, “Akaashi, Akaashi, Akaashi. Now you say it.” Akaashi, digging his cheek into the shoulder of Bokuto’s jacket, says, “Bokuto.”  </p><p>Akaashi thinks that for the first time, this strange relationship is real and exists outside of them now, and is now beyond his control. The defense is down. And he’s afraid of what’s next, but also feels good, right here, for now, next to Bokuto.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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